I love that TV commercial where the dog hears the word “bacon” from his master, and runs through the house, knocking over the kid’s blocks and screeching to a halt as he is offered the sponsored product, which is not actually bacon, but a product manufactured from pork products and other ingredients and made to look and smell like bacon.

If that dog were actually able to think, he would know he was not being given real bacon. The product bears a resemblance to bacon, but it does not have the look or feel of real bacon. The texture is different; even the smell is not quite what one would expect bacon to smell like. And if you throw it in a frying pan, it doesn’t make little bubbles and pleasant crackling sounds like real bacon does.

I love bacon. Real bacon. I love the smell. I love the taste. I love to hear it cooking in the pan. I love it in salads, on sandwiches, wrapped around hot dogs, or simply lying on a plate next to a pair of sunny-side ups. There are fake bacon products on the market for consumption by humans, and they are touted as more healthy, but give me real bacon anytime. Just don’t tell my doctor.

That commercial was on TV again today, and as I watched the dog (which also is a fake in the shots where he runs through the house), I thought, “Stupid dog!” I mean, there he is, going wild for something that is not real. Then I thought about all the things in my life that I go wild for, that are not real, or, at least are not what gives my life significance and importance. My love for movies, for example. Or certain kinds of music. Or video games. Or sports. Or many other things in my life to which I devote precious time, interest, money and energy. In the end, like my doggy friend’s product, none of it is bacon.

The realities in my life are my wife, my children, my grandchildren, my church, the ministries God has given me to do as His ambassador in this world and the life He has given me to live for His glory. The real treat is found in spending time with my family doing things with them and strengthening our relationships with each other. I can smell the real bacon cooking when I stand with fellow believers in a worship service and sing with them praises to our God. The real taste is there when I am serving Jesus.

The ultimate reality in my life is that fifty years ago I asked Jesus to save me from the penalty of my sin. He did exactly what He promised He would do, and I have never regretted turning over my life to Him. I say this respectfully: Jesus is the real bacon in my life.

When I throw a few strips of bacon into a hot pan, the lovely aromas and sounds fill the room and my mouth waters in anticipation of the great taste I am about to enjoy. Like the real food, when the situations of life heat up and I am thrown into the frying pan of challenges and struggles, the real bacon in my life sizzles.

Now, where is my frying pan. There is some real bacon in the fridge with my name on it.

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I am owned by a psychotic Parson's Russell terrorist who lives and breathes for treats like the fake bacon and imitation pepperoni. Actually, he will happpily wolf down avocado shells if we allow it. btw - the fake bacon now comes with peanut
butter flavoring . . .